


Big Girls Don't Cry

by Lucky107



Series: The Wanderer [8]
Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Burns, F/M, Gen, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 09:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7309339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucky107/pseuds/Lucky107
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the strangest thing that the sound of a baby's crying is more foreign to them than the sound of gunfire in the wasteland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big Girls Don't Cry

**Author's Note:**

> Big Girls Don't Cry - The Four Seasons - 1962

The sound pierces the air like a siren's wailing; the first instinct is to duck for cover.

Butch follows Cassidy behind the protective steel plate of the trailer's rusty siding and, like children afraid in the night, they cower together as they get their bearings.  It's the strangest thing, Cassidy realises, that the sound of a baby crying is more foreign to them than the sound of gunfire.  They acted more readily now than ever before and that, perhaps, is the exact train of thought that allows her to uncurl herself from her defensive position.

When she pokes her head out, there's no one in sight - not man nor beast - and yet the baby's crying persists, loudly and frantically as if desiring to be found.

There's no way they can just leave it.

Butch's hand is warm on her own, a feeble attempt to hold Cassidy back, but her mind is set; she disappears into the fading twilight to locate the source of the crying.  Various clues indicate the camp hasn't been abandoned for long, but whoever was here has taken off in a real hurry... and they left behind something _very_ important.

It takes only a moment of snooping for Cassidy to pinpoint the source of the sound - an old baby pram - and even from a distance, she's able to make out the distinctly human shape beneath the filthy sheet.

It's only upon closer inspection that she realises her grave mistake and there's not enough time for Butch to say a word.  With too much distance between them, he doesn't have a chance to pull Cassidy safely away from the carriage and the crude doll explodes violently in his companion's face.

A trap.

_A fucking trap._

"Jesus Christ," Cassidy murmurs, clawing at the collar of her Vault jumpsuit with the desperation of a drowning man.  It's hot - so terribly _hot_ \- and she feels herself suffocating beneath the restriction of the collar.  If she doesn't get some air _soon_ , she—

Butch is by her side in a heartbeat, eager to help, but Cassidy slaps his hand away the moment he tries.

"Don't."

\- - -

Staring up into the dark, Cassidy finds herself fascinated by how little light it takes to bring his blue eyes to life.

With a firm hand fisted into the sheets on either side of her head, Butch pins her against the bed aggressively to avoid an otherwise inevitable fight.  The smell of whiskey is pungent on the air between them.

"You look terrible," he whispers, a raspy and hoarse sound that indicates he's been smoking like a chimney again.  "... You really should have let me look at it sooner."

Tonight Cassidy doesn't turn her face away.

Instead, she continues to stare straight into those big, blue eyes as Butch examines the scars.  He isn't lying: she looks terrible with dark patches marring the left side of her face and neck.  The area was left exposed when she turned her head to the incoherent sound of his voice and the skin melted under the intensity of the heat.

In the dim yellow glow of the lantern, the protruding ridges of the scars cast shadows.  It's ugly at its best and monstrous at its worst.

"You're looking at it right now," she insists, limp beneath his predatory stance.  "Go on - look all you like."

With lopsided balance, Butch places the entire weight of his upper half on one arm, freeing the other so that he may touch the burns.  He's clumsy - drunk - but careful, as if he's handling something fragile, when he maps out the geography of her burns.  And she lets him, unmoving - unflinching.  "... Does it hurt?"

Cassidy grunts and confirms, "In other ways."


End file.
